Eighteen Years

Eighteen years has gone by so fast. Eighteen years of your

gentle spirit. Eighteen years of your great sense of humor. Your kind heart and easy smile. Eighteen years that, if given the chance, I would do all over again.

I would slow down and pay closer attention.

I would look into your eyes and listen as your little-boy voice told me whatever it was you were excited about, or asked me another question. I would hold your hand and walk with you at your pace around the neighborhood as you notice the world around us. I would let the laundry pile up as I sat outside and watch every trick you wanted to show me over and over. Then we’d come inside and play cars and build garages for them.

I would snuggle up with you on the couch to read another book. Then another. I would hug you and kiss the top of your head and tell you for the millionth time that I love you.

It’s not that those moments are gone completely…they just look different now.

I leave the laundry in the hamper and go have a coffee with you instead. I sit on your bed as you tell me about the crazy things you and the guys did or the latest project you’re working on. You pour yourself another bowl of cereal and we talk about whatever is on your mind.

I pop my head in your door before bed to tell you, for the millionth time, that I love you.

And every time, you reply, “Good night. I love you too.”